


The hardest days I have to be both

by groundedreamer



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Depressive Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Iwa and tooru don't grow up together, M/M, can also be read as queerplatonic, i guess looking at the crap they tell us about love and trying to unlearn stuff, oikawa thinks too much, self esteem challenges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundedreamer/pseuds/groundedreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tooru falls in love easily. </p><p>The girl solving a rubik’s cube on the bus. </p><p>The boy leaning over his phone on the train, backpack between his feet. </p><p>Tooru feels it, the weight of almost, <i>maybe</i>, pressing into his shoulders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The hardest days I have to be both

**Author's Note:**

> Self-esteem is hard, relationships are hard, love is hard.
> 
> I guess it's about the struggle of finding worth in yourself even as people tell you you aren't worth anything unless someone loves you. Also the hit this takes on self-esteem and thought processes. The process of healing and how hard it is to do yourself and how restorative it is to have support, but it's not about being saved by someone. Also how someone who struggles with anxiety, depression, etc. can be two different people: one on the outside and one on the inside, and not have anyone realize. It's about something lol. I hope it speaks to you.

_They say don’t look for love. Do the things you love and love will find you, but they also say you don’t get anything unless you try._

 

Tooru falls in love easily. 

The girl solving a rubik’s cube on the bus. 

The boy leaning over his phone on the train, backpack between his feet. 

A glimpse of a face going up the stairs. 

The startlingly attractive classmate sitting two rows back and four seats over. 

Tooru feels it, the weight of almost, maybe, pressing into his shoulders. The possibility of a story, a date, laughter, _love_. Alternate time lines where two strangers, two time lines, collide. 

It’s always quick. A flash of something that makes him want to look good, feel good, be good in that instant, in that moment for that person on the bus, train, in class. 

He always talks, to his friends, or to them, half a mind on their reaction. 

It’s always the question of are they looking? Do I look good? _I hope I do_. 

The question of do they think I’m cute? Funny? Smart? Endearing?

 

 

 

The moment of eye contact is electrifying and heavy with _maybe_. 

 

 

 

He doesn't understand it. He doesn't understand the vulnerable feeling he gets when the sun hits someone’s face just right. He doesn't understand the bizarre instances where he wants to _be something_ to this someone. _Why_ he wants them to think he's cute, funny, smart, interesting. _Why_ he wants them to think he's someone they want to be around, someone they want to know more about.

It's the _almost_ and _maybes_ , he thinks. The almosts and maybes that are so intriguing, so compelling. Maybe it's the way he could tell so much about a person just by looking at them. He just knew that maybe they were the person for him. Maybe this time, if he sat next to them and struck up a conversation, they could be something. 

Or maybe, if he can be something to them, can make them wonder for even one minute, maybe he won't be so ugly, so broken, so undesirable, so worthless. Maybe he won't be so alone. 

But then he gets off the train or they turn the corner and his maybe turns into an almost.

 

 

 

 

_Love is found when you love yourself first._

 

Tooru loves himself. It still sounds strange to him, but he does. He can say: I am kind. I am good. I am smart. I am loved. I am valuable. I have worth. 

And he believes it, too. 

It took him a long time to get there and he's happy. He's glad that ever-present dark rumbling in his mind has quieted a little. Most days are good days. 

It's just that sometimes…sometimes...it’d be nice not to have to do it all himself, you know? 

 

 

 

 

_Happiness lands on your shoulder while you aren’t looking._

 

This, _this_ ,Tooru hates the most. As if he should be punished for trying, for waking up everyday and hoping maybe today was the day he didn't want to immediately crawl back into bed. It’s not like he's chasing some abstract concept of happiness and all that. But more like he wants to feel light in his heart, wants to laugh with all of himself for once, wants to feel _good_ , about his life, about himself. How else can he say it? He just wants to wake up and not feel like shit. That's happiness to him. And no condescending, piece of crap advice shared by someone on _facebook_ is going to shame him (he understands, of course, the sentiment behind it, but some _days_ ). 

 

(today is not a good day) 

 

Tooru waits in a nearby coffee shop for Suga. Tooru is meant to meet a new spiker, see if he would be a good match for their team. Tooru runs his finger around the ring of water his iced coffee has left on the table, half-itching to leave and practice his serves and half-wondering if this guy is any good. Tooru blows a piece of his hair out of his eyes and slouches back, his hands casually linked behind his head. His eyes move around the room, looking for something to occupy his interest for the next ten minutes. His eyes move from an old woman in the back wiping a child's face with a napkin, to a serious-looking businessman, to an equally serious-looking young man. Tooru’s move from him to--to the young man.

He has short black hair that stands up in spiky tufts. The edges catch the setting sun which catches the curve of his jaw. Strong, straight black eyebrows rest above dark eyes. His skin is as gold as the sunset, warm brown is glowing from the inside out. His hands are large, defined by the sharp jut of bones and knuckles under taut skin. The boy squints up in Tooru’s direction and he can’t help but gasp. He is breathtaking, in the most dangerous way, and Tooru can't help falling a little in love.

He bites his lips and looks away. The loud crashing of feelings inside his chest and his brain too loud to say shut up to today. They wash over him and a repetition of the usual starts.

It's not worth it _(you’re not worth it)_

Why would he ever _(you're not worth it)_

Like you even have a chance _(you'll never be worth it)_

Like a trashy, but catchy pop song. On repeat. 

Not me, not me, not me. 

 

It was never him. 

 

And Tooru lays his head down on his arms and tucks his hair behind his ear, nonchalantly. Like his mind wasn't spinning in dark circles, downpours of self-deprecation and bitterness submerging half-healed wounds, refusing to let them heal, but also poisoning them further.

He closes his eyes, telling himself the things he always does in moments like these. He is fine. Just because one person doesn't like you, doesn't mean you're not still good. You're fine, still good, still valuable. He repeats it over and over, like a prayer to protect himself. 

“Tooru?” 

Tooru startles and shoots up. “Oh, Suga!” he says, a smile on his face. It's half-fake, half-genuine (like him). He laughs a little bit. “Sorry, I dozed off, all those extra practices are killing me.” 

“Tooru,” Suga’s voice turns disapproving, but he doesn't give Tooru more than a look before turning to the person next to him. “Hajime, this is Oikawa Tooru, the captain of our team.” Tooru turns his attention on the young man standing next to Suga and feels his stomach lurch uncomfortably. It's the same young man that was sitting at the next table not too long ago. He distantly hears Suga speaking. “Tooru, this is the guy I was talking about. Iwaizumi Hajime. Wing spiker extrordinaire.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Tooru gives Iwaizumi a big smile and he sees him flinch minutely. Tooru brushes it off, brushes his pants off and strides to the door. “Shall we?” 

 

Iwaizumi Hajime was strange, to say the least. He avoided Tooru for the first few days on the team (he played too well to ignore, when they had practiced), seeming like he was on edge around him. Tooru...Tooru is hurt, for more reasons than one (1. it was a maybe that was closer to an actually than most) but he took it in stride, telling himself that this was a great chance to get over these inexplicable, confusing, self-deprecating feelings he held onto for too long. 

Of course, he still had good days and bad days (Tooru was beginning to understand that bad days were something that would always happen and he was strong for getting through them…not that he still didn't dread them). 

Iwaizumi becomes a steady presence in his life. Somehow they click. After the first all-nighter they pull talking, Iwaizumi becomes someone he texts regularly. Iwaizumi becomes Iwa-chan, and eventually Hajime. Tooru is always asking if he wants to go out, see a movie, have dinner, or just talk. To his continuous surprise, Hajime, says yes. 

He also strangely becomes a steady presence during most of Tooru's bad days. Days he spent practicing until he was ready to collapse. Or days he spent sitting quietly, hearing the cacophony of sounds rage inside his head. Hajime never said much during these days. A rough hug, or a hair ruffle sufficed to say what he had once whispered while holding Tooru.

_Why do you always try to do it alone?_

Tooru had no response to this. He didn’t answer him that day, had just gone through the cycle of his feelings, so he could put himself back together again later. 

His crippling fear that his maybes would always be maybes still haunted him, but he was better at pushing those thoughts away. He was practicing everyday, doing the cheesy advice on those self-esteem websites or whatever. It wasn't perfect, but it helped. 

After years of work, he is better at recognizing self-destructive thoughts and stopping them, at re-routing them. And even when he isn't successful, Hajime is there. With his steady hands and steadier heart. He lets Tooru fall apart, but hands back the pieces so Tooru can put them into place again. And that's more than enough.  
.

**Author's Note:**

> _Sometimes I'm the mess_  
>  _Sometimes I'm the broom._  
>  _On the hardest days, I have to be both._
> 
> Does anyone else feel like this?


End file.
